


More Than Enough

by spicedrobot



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hemipenes, M/M, Teasing, idk how to tag that LMAO, quirrel has two dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: Quirrel returning his affections is not the only surprise of the night. (It's shameless niche porn lads.)
Relationships: Relic Seeker Lemm/Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 134





	More Than Enough

They’ve been dancing around this for the better part of a year. Glances caught, ghosting hands, conversations that waver on their tongues, attuned, distracted. 

Their first kiss had been on the docks of Blue Lake, the catch of lips swallowed by the ambience of water whispering against ancient wood. Gripped by a gently shaking hand, he had led Quirrel back into the endless rain, the dreariness of the forsaken city lessened by another’s hand bleeding warmth into his own.

They talked so little at first. The fog that had enveloped Quirrel lingered for weeks, ghosts that would not free him so easily. He would not eat, would not sleep, his dreams plagued by an old life and an ancient master. Lemm would not dine without him, spoke mindlessly when he himself preferred the quiet, anything to enliven the lightless eyes of the one who he had come to hold dear. Lemm passed those early, fearful days by showing Quirrel his collection, rattling off the ages of the artifacts, the builds, the precision of the artisan’s tools, anything he could remember. Quietly he thrilled at Quirrel’s sparse replies, addenda, augmentations of an relic’s use, of where he had seen it before, in deeper, darker places that Lemm dared not tread. And Lemm would nod along, etch Quirrel’s words onto stone. 

Day by day, piece by piece, Quirrel began to return to him. 

He set Quirrel to run the storefront while Lemm painstakingly labored over one of the little ghost’s arcane eggs. They supped together. They slept together. At first, at the edges of the mattress, shared out of necessity rather than any harbored affections. The kiss had been desperation, and Lemm reminds himself of this each night, chilled and yearning for the heat at his back. 

So very much later, years it had seemed, the warmth he had dreamed about came to him. An arm curling around his hip, snuggling closer, easy, sleep-soft breath against his carapace. Lemm hadn’t slept a wink that night. Nor the next time it occurred. 

Lemm is not like the impenetrable stone parapets of the city. Each time Quirrel burrowed against him, his harsh edges whittled away into loveworn grooves. Smooth lines that lead to a place that makes his heart shudder in his chest. Then the moment when Quirrel’s voice says into the silence of their sleeping quarters:

“That day at the lake...you kissed me.”

Lemm goes stock still. He can’t do much else, not with Quirrel tucked against his back, his arm across his waist. And it was true, he _had_ kissed him, but what did Quirrel want? An apology, a reason? 

So quietly, Lemm barely hears the words whispered into his neck.

“Why haven’t you done it since?” 

Lemm should think this through, be gentle, patient. Didn’t he have that in droves? The relic seeker who could spend a lifetime restoring forgotten things with little more than a frustrated sigh? Lemm turns over quickly, but Quirrel does not move back. Faces inches from one another, wide eyes, a gently slackened mouth.

Annoyance is so easy here. Safe like a well-worn glove.

“What do you want from me?” Lemm grumbles, sputters as Quirrel’s eyes dip momentarily to his mouth. “I did not...want you to think that you owed me anything for staying here—”

The kiss is different than their first. Tentative for a moment as lips meet, strangely soft, addictive, responsive like they weren’t before. Hot like they weren’t before as Quirrel surges close, Lemm’s gasp claimed and pursued by the slip of his tongue. Quirrel’s hand at his cheek and neck, anchoring him, trapping him, stealing his hesitation.

Lemm doesn’t know if he’s ever been kissed like this, even when the city was a vibrant thing, when his carapace had shined, fresh and new. Now, in this forgotten place, two remnants of history learn one another with the eagerness of life.

He should be tentative, more careful, but Quirrel is not a delicate artifact or precious trinket, he moves, breathes, moans into his mouth, the sound burning through him, awakening him, cobwebs swept away, dust lifted. Lips slide, become messy, wet, hands upon shoulders, throats, like there is nothing else. They come alive, gentle, needful throbs, thighs clenched, shifting close, the tentative first drag, afraid, maybe, of what it could mean.

“D-do you want me to?” Lemm manages between lips and teeth, hands slipping down Quirrel’s back, feeling the grooves of his carapace, smooth against roughened fingers. 

Like a strike, the response comes faster than he can believe.

“Yes—”

Oh, he should be careful, where is that practiced restraint? Filthy old man, palming greedily down Quirrel’s front, eyes trained on his face, watching each moan, the faint, growing violet coloring his cheeks. 

“B-but you should know that, o-oh, uhm, ahh—!” 

He grasps Quirrel’s cock, half-emerged, flushing madly when it twitches against his palm, freezing when he feels something else brush his knuckles. Lemm blinks rapidly, drops his gaze to confirm what his mind fails to acknowledge.

Another cock, a twin to the first, tinged purple and beaded at the tip, leaving a line of pre along the back of Lemm’s hand. 

“Two…”

Quirrel covers his face, groaning.

“I’m sorry...”

“Sorry?” Lemm’s answer is a growl. He pushes Quirrel’s hand from his face, kisses him hard and quick while his free hand slips between them. “Ridiculous. Though you _would_ make an old man work hard like this…”

Quirrel half-laughs, half-moans, clapping a hand over his mouth as Lemm strokes him, each pump gently off kilter from the other. His touch glides easily as Quirrel leaks, body quaking, cocks plump and needy in his grip. Gods, he can’t believe he’s doing this, could never even have dreamed of it, having Quirrel open to him, twisting and moaning beneath his touch.

It makes him greedy, mad for it, makes him mad for his madness.

“How shall I do it, wanderer?” He breathes, his own words shocking even himself. “One at a time? One in my mouth...the other waiting for its turn?”

“ _Lemm_ —!” Quirrel squeaks, his lower body throbbing, copious pumps of pre dribbling over his speeding fingers. 

“Do they spill in tandem? Or does one throb and finish while the other suffers?” 

The eyes set upon him staggers his words, bright and needful. For all that Quirrel blushes and stutters, his hands find him, resolute, even as they tremble against Lemm’s cock, the forgotten thing dripping and aching against his stomach. His touch is sloppy but eager, and Lemm hisses into it, dizzied by the pleasure that scores through him. 

“Not just me, my friend…” Quirrel whispers.

Lemm’s motions slow as Quirrel’s hands press upon his own. His cocks align, flushed and glistening in the light from the window. For a moment, Lemm simply stares, mouth dry, heart thundering. Then the notion clicks into place. Lemm shifts his hips, his own tapered cock catching against Quirrels’, butting into the seam between them. 

The shuddering moan that follows steals his own breath, his body feeling like a stranger, alien, alive. He presses harder, cock slickening, slipping, sinking into the space between with a swear on his breath. It’s tight, and warm, a near perfect clutch when Quirrel whimpers and shakes. It must be little more than a tease for him, but his eyes are glazed, locked on Lemm’s, lips shined and half-parted, gasping freely as Lemm ruts.

It should not be fair, how close it brings him so soon, when Lemm has one and Quirrel two, but with each thrust, liquid heat between his cocks, the tip of his own kissing Lemm’s stomach, dragging along its segments, ribbed and teasing, Quirrel’s hands an unforgiving weight upon his own, keeping each thrust hard and tight, all he can do is bury deep against him, stomach to stomach, mouth to mouth, Quirrel kissing him as he spills over his stomach, groaning weakly into his body.

Lemm catches his breath, embarrassingly labored, against Quirrel’s throat. The weight lifted, Quirrel’s hands displacing his own, his love’s breath picking up, touching himself, lips caught between his teeth.

Lemm huffs, the idea of watching Quirrel take himself apart quickly overcome by his own tired annoyance.

“You think so lowly of me?”

Quirrel’s eyes widen so prettily as Lemm shifts down the bed, capturing Quirrel's hands and pinning them to the mattress. The wanderer flat on his back, his cocks against his stomach, glossy with Lemm’s seed and his own pre.

“I’ll not leave you like this.”

Again, his name from Quirrel’s lips like a prayer. Damn him, how crazy he makes Lemm. His tender, wistful smiles and words that sound like they come from someone whose lived so many lives and seen so many things.

He takes Quirrel with his mouth, led by his soft, shaking cries, pinned hands twisted into the sheets, his stilted rocking, begging for more. His other cock brushes by his cheek, granted a gentle kiss and lick when it seems Quirrel draws close to his end, teasing him until his own cock thickens once more. 

“Please, Lemm...I want to touch you…”

Lemm only hushes him, draws him deeper, holds him down as he takes him apart at his leisure. A high-pitched warning, a moment too late, Quirrel coating his tongue and lips, near tasteless, gently sweet. Lemm tsks, voice roughened and wavering. He stares up the sloping curve of Quirrel’s body and into his darkened face, the drop of drool at the edge of his lips, the glaze of his eyes arresting, a piece he would never tire of.

“Seems I was right…” Lemm whispers, lips brushing against Quirrel’s untouched cock, which jerks at the attention. “Such a pain.” But his words are listless, heat-laced as his swollen mouth descends once more.

All bluster, and they both know it.


End file.
